This will be a long and likely scattered update. But before I say anything else, I need to acknowledge that my sister is a rockstar. She is the one to thank for the pictures posted on the blog and on facebook. I was never able to upload any myself. THANK YOU!

Other news... I have a new address. I can still receive mail at the other one5 (BP 3194) but they will no longer deliver packages over 2kilos; I need to pick them up in Lomé, so we set up a post box nearby. For anything large, it is better to use the new address. Letters can be sent to either. And while we are on the subject, thank you all for the letters and packages. I appreciate it more than I can explain.

SO, I am in Atakpame again, taking care of a lot of work stuff and stocking up on supplies. The Presidential election will be held 4 March, and we will be on standfast for a few weeks prior to and following that date. This basically entails continuing with work routines, but we are not able to leave our villages. Therefore, we need to have sufficient funds and food to last through this period. I will definitely not have internet until, possibly, the beginning of April, and there are rumors that the already spotty phone reception will be cut off entirely. They are not anticipating widespread problems, but, especially as it will be difficult to contact us, it is likely that for a few days, we will be consolidated to the training center in nearby Pagala. I will be absolutely fine, but I might be out of touch for awhile.

I recently read The Village of Waiting, George Packer’s account of his Peace Corps service in Togo in the 80’s. I don’t know that I agree with everything he said, but it was fascinating to see so many of my own experiences reflected in print. I was struck by the following passage as an accurate and succinct description of village life:

“Two thousand villages lived as they must have for decades or longer. The rhythm, was simple. Sun gave way to dark, work to sleep; larger cycles – the yearly one between rain and dryness and then the cycle of a single lifetime – were made up of hundreds or thousands of repetitions of these daily ones, which never varied. The same smells of woodsmoke, wet mud, human sweat and excrement; the same noises of roosters, squalling babies, fufu pounding, insects, the rare taxi speeding out of nowhere. The village hardly seemed touched by linear time, by history – or, more precisely, had bumped up against it one around the beginning of the century in the form of German and French colonizers, received the bruises of church, school and dispensary, and gone unscathed ever since. In this stasis there was life, and life seemed to boil down to two things, almost indistinguishable from each other: commerce and chat.”

So I might have mentioned that I have witnessed a fair amount of animal slaughter lately. This has become alarmingly commonplace. I see goats being chopped up at the marche, the cow that was tied to our tree one night is in pieces the next morning, I stepped on an unidentified jaw bone the other day… After five months in Togo, I find that fewer things faze me. Yet, I think the lamb slaughter story warrants a little special attention. But for me to continue requires an embarrassing personal revelation. I am just a few months shy of the quarter century mark, and I still sleep with my childhood stuffed animal. There, I said it. Many of you who know me personally are already aware of this fact and are acquainted with Lamby. As for the rest, my apologies if your opinion of me is diminished; we all have our vices. He has traveled the world with me. He, too, has lived on four continents, and to be honest, his Spanish, French and Adeli are all better than mine. But in some ways, he is incredibly naïve. Which brings me back to the story…

A few of the ruffians I call siblings had managed charm their way into my room. I generally try to keep them out, this being the only personal space that I have, but the chief had just returned from the hospital following a car accident, and I was feeling particularly generous. We were dancing around when my four-year-old brother spotted Lamby napping on the bed. I let him hold him just long enough to take an adorable photo. But while he was posing, someone called him outside. He dashed out, still holding Lamby. To give thanks for the chief’s recovery, the elders were chanting, shaving his head and, oh yeah, killing a huge lamb. Thankfully, I had a friend staying with me who, upon seeing the panicked look on my face, took control of the situation and chased after my brother, but it was too late. The damage was done. Lamby witnessed the bloody murder, forever shattering his long-held belief that lambs and humans share an entirely friendly relationship. And so it goes…

I have been contemplating getting a pet. I think it would be really nice to have a dog, but, slaughters aside, I have been having trouble with animals lately. A mother hen jumped at me, squawking and scratching when I accidentally crossed between her and her chicks. The dogs of two friends were killed by motos in the same week. The village monkey, with whom I previously enjoyed a reasonably good relationship, went on the offensive, screaming and clawing. Granted, he was not completely unprovoked. He was sitting on my lap, searching my arms for bugs, and he strayed into armpit territory. I can’t help being absurdly ticklish. When I jumped up, he got scared and launched his attack. We stopped hanging out for awhile after that, but I have been back to visit him recently, and all seems to be forgiven.

Despite all of these animal attacks, I volunteered to dog-sit for two friends recently. I was really nervous. I have never lived with a dog, and I was terrified that he would run away, bite a small child or be eaten. As a side note, dog meat is eaten here, though not generally on a regular basis. I will be attending a ceremony this summer that celebrates the consumption of dog meat as a signal of passage into manhood. I am interested to witness the event, but I will not be abandoning my vegetarianism to partake.

I’ll take a break from the colorful, cultural anecdotes to talk about work for a bit. The soccer game was great, tough we lost 1-0 on a contested penalty kick. We have already called for a rematch. At halftime, we had a sensibilization on family planning. The turnout was fantastic. Not at all disheartened by the loss, the girls sang and chanted the whole ride home.

The girls club is going very well. The girls are amazing. I was floored though, by some of the questions they asked during open discussion time. These are developed teenagers, some as old as 17, who do not know the basics of puberty and menstruation. I have reworked my curriculum and arranged for a nearby volunteer who works in the CHAP (Community Health and AIDS Prevention) to come for some health presentations.

I have just been granted permission and a plot of land to start a garden with the girls. Another volunteer in my cluster who works with NRM (Natural Resource Management) has agreed to come and do a presentation on composting and to help us get the garden started. My hope is that the girls can sell the vegetables that they grow to raise money for school fees.

I have started helping out at the dispensaire (health clinic) for their weekly baby weigh-ins and vaccinations. Once a month, the mothers bring in their infants to receive any inoculations and to chart their growth. I think it is a wonderful program, but there is still such widespread malnutrition.

I started an English club at the lycee (essentially the equivalent of high school). There is not one in Tchifama, but they just opened one in Tadjan, a 30 minute bike ride away. I was a little nervous, as I have no counterpart for this project. It is just me in a classroom with 60+ students, some of whom are likely my age. But it is going so well. They are enthusiastic and currently working on writing letters to Mr. Kline’s class. My biggest frustration is related to l’ecolage (school fees). For all students, there is a national fee imposed, 4000CFA for girls and 6000CFA for boys. The government recently decreased fees for girls in hopes of retaining girls’ enrollment rates. On top of that set amount, each school can impose additional fees, depending on their needs and costs. Because it is a new school, the lycee has added an additional 9000CFA for each student. All told, it probably only works out to about USD$30, but that is a lot of money here. Last week, the regional inspector came through and kicked out all of the students who have not paid their fees. My class size was reduced to half. It is so difficult to get kids to stay in school up to this level, and here are 30 kids who really want to be there but who are being prevented from attending. I was really upset, and I am going to sit down with the director to talk about the problem.

I am working with nearby volunteers to organize an inter-village soccer tournament; the games will be used as a platform to present sensibilizations on potable water and hygiene. We are working on a budget at the moment, and hope to it funded by a health organization that funds small projects. As you may have noticed, involving soccer is a really effective way of getting people’s attention. While we are on the topic of soccer, if anyone knows of a team or organization that has old uniforms or balls, I would be happy to arrange for shipping.

Finally, I am helping to coordinate a region-wide Take Your Daughters to Work Week. We are bringing girls from our small villages to the city for a week and putting them in contact with professional women. We will have sessions on the importance of education, sexual harassment, reproductive health, women’s rights. We will also be taking them around the community to observe women in their work environment. It’s proving to be a lot of work, but I’m really excited about this one.

OK, I think that is all I can feasibly ask of your attention span. Thank you for the continued love and support. I have not yet responded to so many letters and cards, but I promise I think of you all frequently and with love.

k